


State of Love and Trust

by rainpuddle13



Category: Poldark (TV 2015), Poldark - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Family, Love, Wild Baby Poldark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-07-05
Packaged: 2018-11-23 15:23:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11405178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rainpuddle13/pseuds/rainpuddle13
Summary: Ross finally makes good on his word to settle down and cherish his wife and child.A set of vignettes that explores family life at Nampara.Companion piece toSowing the Seeds of Love.





	1. I.

“Judas, Ross!” his wife cried, startled by the suddenness of his stolen kiss. “I’ve never!” She turned a very lovely shade of pink, and he thought she looked rather pleased if he did say so himself. Demelza had been so intent on coaxing their son to eat his dinner she hadn’t noticed her husband’s return from the mine. It wasn’t very often he could catch her unawares.

“I fear you have,” he teased. “Many times.” She scrunched her nose at him and that made him laugh as he swooped in to kiss away her disapproval.

“Papa!” Jeremy cried, tugging on his sleeve and turning his precious little face up to him, giggling and puckering his lips for a kiss of his own. 

“And one for you, too,” Ross said softly, leaning down to give him the demanded kiss and then taking his seat at the head of the table. The look of sheer joy on the little boy’s face nearly broke his heart. There had been so little of happiness in the past few years that he’d almost forgotten the joy that such a simple act as bestowing a kiss could bring.

Demelza ducked her head to hide her smile as she fixed a plate for him, all the while keeping one wary eye on the squirming child on the bench next to her. “Sam and Drake settling in down the mine?”

“I think so,” Ross answered, taking the plate loaded with roast chicken, cheese, stewed apples, and thick slices of brown bread. “Zacky says they’re hard workers and I’ve heard no complaints from Henshawe.”

“I’m that glad.” She poured him a mug of ale as she spoke. “I know you’d not been eager to take on more men just now.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her, wanting to put that thought right out of her mind. It’d been true that he’d not wanted to taken on any more workers, but Henshawe had managed to find space for them. Despite his initial hesitation, Sam and Drake had proven themselves to be competent miners. The only complaint Ross could find with them was with the elder of the two’s tendency to proselytize with nearly every breath he took. It rankled that more than a few in the district were starting to listen to the nonsense.

“Cap’n Ross,” Prudie said, acknowledging his presence upon bustling into the dining room. “I’ll just be takin’ the little mite so ye can eat in peace.” The change in the older woman since Jud’s departure was beyond his wildest imaginings, and her loyalty to his wife and child could never be faulted. Ross found he could tolerate her presence much more these days.

“No,” he said, offering a sliver of chicken to Jeremy who eagerly took it and promptly popped in his mouth only to look immediately for more. “He can stay.” The glance his servant gave his wife for confirmation caused only the briefest burn of irritation for he knew Demelza had quietly taken over the running of the household long before they’d married.

“More, Papa,” Jeremy chirped happily, bouncing and clapping each time he was handed a morsel off his father’s plate. Ross soon found himself sharing more food with his son than he was eating himself. He did not miss the amused smile on Demelza’s face as she tucked into her own dinner, unimpeded with childminding, for once. 

“Will you be returning to the mine?” Demelza inquired while trying to tempt Jeremy with a bit of buttered bread. 

“No, I don’t think so,” Ross answered after a moment’s hesitation to weigh the options. “Henshawe has things well in hand. I’d much rather spend the time with you.” He was rewarded with a beaming smile when he snared her hand in his. “I thought we could take Jeremy down to Hendrawna to see if there were any seashells to collect.”

“Oh, Ross,” his wife cried, eyes bright with shimmering tears. “Could we?”

He released her to run his fingers through his son’s soft hair, inordinately pleased at the hints of copper in the dark strands. “I’d like nothing better.”


	2. II.

“Here, Demelza,” Ross offered, reaching for a squirming Jeremy, “let me take him for a while.” She was struggling to have him sit still while attempting to read to him. Even he could see there were simply too many distractions for a little boy to behave, between the dog lounging on the rug in front of the fireplace and the basket full of newly acquired tin soldiers on the low table.

He could’ve laughed at the skeptical look she’d given him over top of the book, but he stood his ground until she acquiesced. “Are you sure?” she asked anyway.

“I wouldn’t’ve said.” He barely caught Jeremy in mid-leap after he had launched himself from his mother’s lap. Ross hoisted the boy up as he wrapped his little arms securely around his neck. “C’mon, son, Papa is going to teach you about mining.”

“Ross, no,” she said quickly, making a move to get up before he waved her off. "’Tis nearly time for his bed.”

“Just to the library. Do you want to look at samples with Papa, Jeremy?”

“Uh huh!” the boy squealed, nodding his head and giving him a toothy grin.

“Just call me if he gets to be too much,” she called after their retreating figures.

“We’ll be fine,” he responded before dropping his voice to whisper to Jeremy. “Your mama doesn’t have much faith in either us to stay out of trouble, I fear.” His son just giggled and squeezed his neck tighter. Ross pressed a kiss to the little boy’s cheek. It heartened Ross to know that despite all of the hardships, estrangement, and hurt that marked the first few years of Jeremy’s life, the boy had not seemed to have any lingering ill-effects of his parents’ troubles. The last thing Ross wanted was to repeat too many of his father’s mistakes as a parent. “We’ll just have to show her won’t we, my dear?”

“Yessir,” Jeremy answered, wiggling to get down. The library was normally forbidden territory, and the boy was eager to explore all of the magical, strange, and wondrous treasures held within. Ross had to race to tuck the tomahawk and Indian knives he’d brought home as souvenirs from his time fighting for King and County in America far away from curious little hands. Demelza would surely be displeased if blood was spilt on the Turkey rug. He spent nearly an hour following Jeremy around and patiently answering the steady stream of questions about what things were, but what truly captured the boy’s attention the longest was an old, wobbly rocking horse that had once belonged to Ross as a child.

“This is Wheal Grace,” Ross explained, settling his son on the large work table next to the stretched out map of the workings. Jeremy’s fascination with Ross’s old play toy waned as he began to yawn more and more . It was surely past his son’s bedtime. “It was my father’s copper mine, your grandfather. Joshua Poldark was his name. He named it for your grandmother, Grace Vennor Poldark. They’ve both been gone for a very long time now. It belongs to me now, but one day it will be yours.” 

“Mine?” Jeremy asked, his little brows furrowed.

Ross answered with carefully measured patience. “This house, the land upon which it sits, and Wheal Grace will all be yours someday when you’re older.”

“It will?”

“Yes.”

“Oh,” Jeremy breathed softly, and Ross could see the mix of puzzlement and interest in his eyes. He was too young yet to understand the importance of what was being told to him.

“You’ve a great deal to learn between now and that day though,” he warned. “Do you think you might be up to the task?”

“Yessir,” came the resolute answer from the boy.

Jeremy listened with rapt attention to Ross as he pointed out the various workings of the mine, explained their finds, and how the engine worked to keep water out of the lower levels, but he was soon distracted by the small wooden box of samples on the table. His son quickly busied himself trying to stack the rough rocks together anyway he could make them fit. He spent the better part of the next half hour helping Jeremy build a fort for the handful of grubby old tin soldiers found in yet another box.

“I’ll take you down the mine when you’re a little older,” Ross promised the little boy growing heavy in his arms as sleep started to claim him a little while later after they’d settled in the chair at the desk. “I want to teach you to swim before I do.”


	3. III.

Watching Demelza sing to Jeremy until he finally drifted off brought back memories of his own mother he hadn’t given much thought to in more than twenty years. He could recall so vividly being jealous of her doting on his brother -- a sickly child prone to fevers -- singing to him, reading him fantastical stories as he drifted off to sleep long after Ross had outgrown the nursery.

“He looks like my brother,” Ross said quietly, coming to stand next to his wife sitting on the edge of Jeremy’s small bed. He didn’t know why he even spoke that particular thought aloud, but he’d first noticed it earlier at the table. The interaction between them had resurrected fleeting memories of his childhood just before everything had gone to shite. 

“Claude Anthony?” She reached for his hand, looking up at him with eyes full of concern. Prudie had surely shared the sad tale with Demelza at some point over the years, but he could not recall ever saying his brother’s name to his wife.

Maybe he’d drunk too much ale with the evening meal, or he was just feeling particularly nostalgic. He wasn’t sure. Ross nodded before continuing, “He died from a fever on a bitterly cold January morning. Father was beside himself with grief, having not yet recovered from my mother the previous year.”

“Just like Julia,” Demelza said in barely a whisper, a single tear left a silvery trail as it slid down her cheek.

“No.” Ross gently tugged his wife into his arms, cradling her in the safety and warmth of his embrace. “No,” he said again. “Not quite.” He was just thankful that, unlike his father, he had not lost his wife to illness, though it’d been a very near thing. A life without his headstrong, beautiful, generous wife was something he did not care to dwell upon. Losing his daughter had wrecked him so thoroughly he’d yet to completely recover, then to have lost Demelza as well? It defied all comprehension. 

But she was there in his arms, long recovered from her ordeal, a mother to a fine son, and in the early bloom of pregnancy once again. He could feel the changes at work already on her body as he held her, the fullness of her breasts where she was pressed against him, and he was sure, later when they were abed, he would be able to feel the gentle swell of the growing babe low.

She sniffled delicately before leaning up to brush several kisses along his jaw, and his body tightened in response. “Ross?”

“My love,” he answered in a low tone, before he rubbed noses with her and pressed a kiss to her forehead.

“You’re contemplative tonight.” Demelza threaded her fingers in the hair at the nape of his neck, scritching a little and making his eyes close in pleasure.

“Just thinking about how truly blessed I am.” He let his hands slip low on her backside so she’d surmise his intentions for the evening.

“Is that so, Mr Poldark?” she playfully asked, and Ross could hear the smile in her voice.

“I’m afraid so,” he confirmed, opening his eyes to watch a delighted flush turn her cheeks rosey pink. It was too tempting not to kiss her breathless. “Might that be a problem?”

“Oh, no,” she practically purred, lifting up on her toes to kiss him again. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this woman as long as he lived.

“Mama?” came a very small voice from the bed, bring a sudden, jarring halt to any further activities.

“Dammit,” Ross growled, leaning his forehead against hers and vainly trying to calm his breathing while she slumped wearily in his arms.

Demelza pulled away from him reluctantly after a quick soft kiss to settle down on the edge of the bed again. She gently brushed the hair back from their son’s face, and Ross knew she was feeling for any sign of a fever. He was prone to them, especially when he was young, but he’d seem to be growing out of them lately. “I’m right here, sweetheart,” she cooed softly. “Why aren’t you asleep like a good boy?”

“I had a bad dream,” Jeremy croaked, on the verge of tears. 

“Demelza,” Ross found himself saying, “let me. I think I know just the thing.”

“Are you sure?” she asked, moving to stand to give him the space to sit on the bed.

He scooped his small son up, grabbing the green knitted blanket at the foot to wrap him up in, and gave his wife a wink. “Jeremy,” Ross said gently, taking a seat in the rocking chair, getting comfortable before setting his son in the crook of his arm, “I’m going to tell you a story my mama used to tell me and my brother when we’d had a bad dream.”


	4. IV.

“I b’lieve I’ve something that belongs to you,” Zachy said upon entering the office after a sharp rap at the door.

“Jeremy!” Ross cried, surprised at seeing his son looking rather sheepish standing next to Garrick in the doorway. The pair of them wore what appeared to be the remnants of contents of the kitchen flour box.

“Found ‘im wandering along the path with the dog,” his foreman continued. “He asked for you.”

“Ah,” he said, coming to stand in front of his son, hands clasped behind his back, and finding it to be exceedingly difficult to keep from laughing. “Is there something you wish to tell me, Jeremy?”

“No.” The little boy stared at the floor.

“I cannot help you if you will not explain yourself.”

“Papa!” he wailed, flinging himself around Ross’s leg and transferring copious amounts of flour onto the deep indigo breeches he wore. Garrick joined in with the most pitiful cry of his own, never one to be willingly left out of anything.

“I s’pect the Mistress don’t know ’e’s here,” Zacky interrupted.

“I suspect not.” And too right that was. Demelza would be beside herself if she knew their son had absconded without her notice, and for once Ross was thankful for Garrick. Despite the mongrel’s many, many faults, he had forever been a most excellent baby minder. “I will write her a note if you can find someone to run to the house.”

After the note was dispatched, Ross spent the better part of the next ten minutes attempting to get as much of the evidence off of Jeremy’s clothing as he possibly could. It was difficult to prove a crime if there wasn’t evidence to be had, although Jeremy would probably fare well. He was a favorite among the judge and jury. Besides Demelza was more and more tired these days as the end of her pregnancy drew close.

“I think that’s the best I can do without a bath and clean clothes,” said Ross when he leaned back on his haunches to inspect his handiwork. Jeremy had been silent throughout the ordeal. “Now tell me what happened.”

“Nuthin’,” the boy said with shrug of his shoulder. 

“Hmm,” he hummed while considering the evidence at hand. “Let me see, your mother was occupied elsewhere so you took the opportunity to sneak one of the sweets she keeps tuck away on the top shelf in the pantry. Something happened -- you slipped on the climb up, or Garrick tried to help. The flour box was overturned and a great mess was made. Fearing the pain of punishment you escaped to seek refuge with me. Does this sound correct?”

Jeremy lifted luminous, dark eyes to meet his, nodding. 

“I figured as much,” Ross said with a rueful smile. “That stool in the pantry is rickety. It thwarted me more than once when I was a boy your age.”

“It did?” Jeremy asked with awe.

“Yes, I should see to fixing the damn thing,” he grumbled, before sobering, mind made up. “Anyhow, we should go back, own up to our misdeeds, and beg for mercy. It’s the only thing we can do. I will take the brunt of the blame this one time; however, after this you’re on your own. Understood?”

“Yes, Papa.”

Ross gathered the boy up to settle on his hip before grabbing up his saddle bag and hat to leave the office. “Remember you can never tell Mama that it was really you who spilt the flour or it’s both our hides.”

“Yes, Papa,” the boy in his arms repeated, this time lighter, more happy, giving him a tight squeeze around the neck and planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek.


	5. V.

“Jeremy?” Ross called as soon as he stepped from the bottom stair, careful not to jostle the bundle of white blankets. The baby felt like she weighed next to nothing, yet was somehow solid and warm in his arms. “Caroline?”

“We’re in here, Ross,” Caroline’s melodic voice replied from the vicinity of the sitting room. “All went well I hope.” 

“Better.” He found his son on the settle before the fire, curled under his mother’s shaw and his head in his auntie’s lap. She was stroking his head lovingly as he slept. “We’ve a daughter.”

“Congratulations,” she gushed elegantly, dancing blue eyes lighting upon the baby. “Beautiful like her mother, I would suppose.”

“From what I can tell. She hasn’t bothered to wake since I arrived home.”

“Understandable,” she said, sounding as if she could commiserate. “Clowance has had a difficult day. A lady does need her beauty rest.” Caroline looked up at him then, and he could see the concern in her eyes. “And Demelza? She fares well?”

“Brave enough. Resting at the moment, but she’ll be up and about soon no doubt. You know how she hates to be idle.” He gestured to his son with a nod of his head. “Is he?”

“Only just.” Caroline bent down to whisper to the sleeping child next to her. “Jeremy, my darling, your papa is here to see you.”

“Papa?” he asked sleepily, slowing sitting up and rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

“We took a long walk on the beach earlier to get away from the house for a while. He is quite the seashell hunter,” Caroline explained, gracefully getting to her feet and brushing out her dark mauve skirts with a practiced hand. “I’ll go see to Demelza and leave you two gentlemen alone.”

“Of course, thank you.” Ross knelt down before his son once they were alone so he could be introduced properly to the newest member of the family. Garrick joined them, sitting just to the side to watch the proceedings. “There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

“Who’s dat?” Jeremy asked, peering at the little, scrunched-up face nearly hidden by the swaddling. 

“This is Clowance,” Ross explained just as the baby chose that very moment to stretch and yawn before opening her blue eyes. “Your sister.”

“Sister?” Jeremy asked, brows furrowing.

“Yes. I know you were hoping for a brother, but sisters are more special,” Ross assured the boy.

Jeremy looked dubious about that particular notion, but reached out to very gingerly rub a single finger against the baby’s chubby, pink cheek. “They are?”

“Very much so,” he answered tightly, tears welling in his eyes at the sight of his two children interacting for the very first time. “I never had a sister.”

“You didn’t?”

“No. Just a brother. The closest thing to a sister I ever had is your Aunt Verity.”

“Oh.” Jeremy looked at him with sparkling dark eyes so like his own, smiling. 

“So we have to be gentle with Clowance because she’s small and fragile,” Ross cautioned gently. “Can you remember that?”

“Uh huh,” Jeremy answered distractedly, mesmerized by the new little person looking back at him with unfocused eyes. “May I give her a kiss, Papa?”

“Yes, my love, you may,” he said, watching on with heart near to bursting as his son leaned in very carefully to press the tenderest of kisses to the top of his daughter’s head.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to Mmmuse for looking this over for me and making me continue. Also, thanks to xxsparksxx for cheerleading.


End file.
